Attention to Detail
by Fair-Ithil
Summary: Small, almost inconspicuous things that can go unnoticed for long periods of time until one day you’re walking to Hagrid’s and you realize you don’t walk between them anymore...Sixth year RonHermione AU


**Disclaimer:** Not Jo Rowling, don't own Harry Potter or his band of loveable (and the not so loveable) teammates.

**A/N:** This is in second person. Why? Because I felt like it…not really. Anyway this is from Harry's POV. Harry is once more, slightly OOC (I tried, I really did, but alas, I did not post this BEFORE HBP) So what I'm trying to get around to saying here is that since this was written **pre-HBP** and since I haven't the heart to dump it, this story is **AU (Alternate Universe)**. Anyway, I'll shut up now.

Read, enjoy, let me know what you think.

* * *

You once heard that it is the little things that change that make the biggest impact.

Small, almost inconspicuous things that can go unnoticed for long periods of time until one day you're walking to Hagrid's and you realize you don't walk between them anymore.

Or that they don't pull away anymore when their hands brush against each other's in the corridor. Or that he now saves the last sugar quill just for her when before he would have just gone ahead and finished it off himself.

And when you finally spot it, you spend the whole evening subconsciously trying to remember when exactly it happened, whether it's been happening for years or if it's something new that's just gotten under way.

You lay in bed trying not to worry too much about it because you're sure there more important things for you to be losing sleep about but thinking nonetheless and you go over every walk you can remember taking and ever conversation the three of you have had and every time they have been alone without you going back to all those Quidditch practices and so on.

You decide it may very well have started at the end of your second year after she came back to the two of you, yes that's when she first started walking in between, some sort of innocent attempt on both your part and his to try and keep her safe. It didn't matter then though because you were twelve and relieved that she was all right but now it's not that. Now she walks in the middle because she wants to (and he wants her to too). She wants to be near him, but still have an eye on you (she's always looking out for you like that).

You start watching them, when they're together and think you're not paying attention to them, and take in all the little things they do now, they didn't do before. Like hand holding. Not from class to class or at meals or anywhere too public, just in the common room while doing homework. Her small ink stained hand wrapped in his larger freckled one that's been calloused by Quidditch, both of them resting on the sofa between them, or sometimes even, if they dare enough, on the table top amongst their books.

And sometimes he leans over and whispers something in her ear and she blushes pink and smiles a little while pretending to be annoyed. But there's no irritation in her voice now when she whispered his name and tells him to do his work.

And he doesn't grumble about rounds anymore, in fact he actually show signs of looking forward to them, which surprises you to the point where you think you're imagining it.

She sometimes wears his scarf when you go for walks or to your games and though she cheers for both her boys, she hugs him first.

You're not bothered by it, and you're defiantly not jealous…well maybe, but only a little. That they have something you don't have, and quite possibly never will have scares you as much as it makes you angry.

But you're glad for them, because if two people deserve to be happy it's them, your two best friends who've never left your side no matter how much of a dolt you are. They have been the two constants in your second life and you hope that nothing will change that. But still there is that completely ridiculous part of you that worries about becoming a third wheel, a hindrance that neither can bring themselves to push away. You are, after all, 'deranged and disturbed'.

You mean to say something to her (because blokes simply don't talk about this sort of thing with other blokes, not even their best mates), and you plan out entire scenarios but all of them end with her either slapping you or bursting into tears, which only adds to your resolve to put it off until after Christmas which you will spend, for the time in years, away from home (because Hogwarts has ever been exactly that).

The three of you go off to the Burrow and you try to completely disengage yourself from the situation because you know it is truly none of your concern. Whatever your friends decide to do romantically does not pertain to you in any which way (' but what if' a little voice says in your head as you watch them build a snowman, 'it doesn't work out and then it's third year all over again and you have pick between them. Or worse, it does work and you have to put up with them being all love sick everywhere, snogging in the common room and in the Great Hall and…' but you tend to ignore this part because the still reasonable side of you knows she isn't the type of girl who would permit such public displays of affection and he isn't really the sort of guy to act stupid over a gir—'well, at least Hermione's not half veela' you reason).

But theses things become a bit more obvious and you seem to pick them a lot easier now then you did before which results in you try to ignore the fact that he saved all his money so he could buy her a quill, a _really_ nice one with a dark blue feather that can write for a long while after only one dip. You try not to read the note he means to attach to it but leaves lying on his bed after Mrs. Weasley calls you down to dinner and spend the rest of the evening trying to forget that he didn't sign 'Ron' as he normally does but rather '_Love_, Ron' his letters just a little neater that usual.

You lose track of your thoughts sometime after hot chocolate and when you agree to play him in a game of chess you aren't remotely interested and loss quicker than usual.

'You alright Harry?' She asks from her seat besides the fire, putting her book down to come over and press the back of her hand to your forehead. 'Did you have a dream? It's not—?' You quickly tell her that it is not You-Know-Who, that you simply didn't sleep well. She frowns, and you note the little lines that have already appeared around her mouth, her eyes and she looks shockingly old, far too old to only be seventeen. You look at him then and realize there are shadows under his own eyes and he's a bit paler that usual.

'We miss him too.' She says and it takes you a moment to realize she's talking about Sirius. You have tried so hard to not think about him until then, lost yourself with a little less resistance to the not-quite-relationship of your two best friends and you feel guilty and sad, and hate yourself just a little bit more for this.

'I'm going to bed.'

You stand and are only slightly surprised when she hugs you.

You allow her but it is not until the very end that you move your arms to hug her back. She is solid and warm and trying so hard to help you with all of this, your destiny, which you, until now, have always thought to face alone. You think that this girl, this bushy haired girl who walked into that train compartment all those years ago inquiring after toad, is amazing. But you don't tell her because he's sitting right there and don't want him to think your trying something (which is stupid since she could very well be your sister).

You pull away and smile down at her and she smiles back.

'Good night Harry, see you in the morning.'

'Right then, I'll just put this away and be right up mate.' He begins to gather his chess set as you walk away unsure of whether or not you should wait for him. You turn around to ask and catch him leaning down to kiss her on the cheek, the motion smooth and well practiced.

It looks natural, as though this is the only way he has ever said good night to her.

You look away quickly feeling as though you have intruded on something intimate and you linger just outside the door way, waiting. He comes out of the living room soon enough and the two of you begin up the creaking stairs to his bedroom.

'So, you and Hermione?' It feels stupid but you say it, nonchalantly, fight back the feeling in your stomach which has decided it is a good time practice summersaults. You hope it feels as unpleasant for him. Worse even.

There is a half second of silence, one of the more awkward that has ever existed in your friendship, and when he talks his voice is a bit higher than normal though you can tell he is trying to play it cool. 'Yeah.'

You fight back a smile and nod silently and begin a conversation about Quidditch which he eagerly joins in and you both allow the former question to slip away between you, letting it rest in some corner of your mind where it can be acknowledged but not fussed over.

You wonder briefly what it is that had you so worried in the first place. They may have changed their titles with each other but at the end of the day they are still Ron and Hermione, who will bicker and tease and be _there_.

They are still your best friends, who will be there even when you don't particularly want them.

Little things change, you realize, the big picture stays the same.

**End**

**

* * *

**

**Every time you review an angel gets it's wings…**


End file.
